


Diets are a Problem

by Morse_s Child (sherlockstummy)



Category: Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: F/F, Food, I'm so sorry, M/M, a veeerrryyyy ooc val, basically the feederism equivalent of porn without plot, feederism, hunger, yeah idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:51:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4524405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockstummy/pseuds/Morse_s%20Child
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Morse endeavors to fix a dire situation. (THIS IS LITERALLY THE FEEDERISM EQUIVALENT OF PORN WITHOUT PLOT! IF YOU DON'T LIKE THAT SORT OF THING, BACK AWAY SLOWLY!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diets are a Problem

Morse never expected to precede his junior partner into the office. Lewis was usually there before him, complete with shining smile and a cheeriness that often made Morse wish he was back in bed. Before coffee, Morse in the morning was a nightmare, and he knew this. But still, deadlines were deadlines. Strange would only tolerate Morse being so late.

Morse looked at his watch as he sat down, puzzled. Okay, granted, he was a few minutes earlier than usual, but Lewis was nothing but prompt. The fact that Lewis wasn’t here made Morse feel panicky and unsettled. Where was his beloved sergeant?

Morse had just returned from fetching his own coffee when Lewis stormed in. The younger man looked haggard, usually cheery face pale, eyes with only half their luster. Morse handed over the coffee he’d poured for himself, wondering if Lewis would complain about it being too sugary. Lewis took the cup with a small guilty smile and drank deeply.

“Sorry I’m late, sir,” Lewis apologized after he’d nearly downed the cup.

“Are you quite well, Lewis? The last thing I want is to catch some kind of illness from you.”

Lewis sighed. “The wife is on about dieting. I love Val just the way she is, but, well,” he shrugged helplessly, “women, eh? She’s putting the household on a diet. Kids are miserable already.”

“I could say the same for you.” Morse replied with thinly-veiled worry.

Lewis smiled brightly, a false cheerfulness. “I’ll be all right, just had a bad sleep.”

Morse was not so sure, what with the sluggish way Lewis was moving, but he let it lie. There was work to be done and cases to be solved.

But after about a week, the effects of the diet were obvious. Lewis was indeed losing weight. His face thinned, cheekbones and jawline becoming slightly more pronounced, gently protruding stomach receding to a flat chest. But Morse could tell it wasn’t doing Lewis any good. His sergeant was pulling at his beers at a rate that nearly rivaled Morse’s, and promptings for food became more frequent. Usually, Lewis was as dedicated to the case as he was, and went hungry until he could no longer stand it. Nowadays, Lewis prompted Morse far more often, and the senior detective felt obligated to oblige, lest his sergeant keel over. 

In addition, Lewis had taken to falling asleep at his desk, or while they were in the car together. As annoying as this habit was, Morse was determined to let the poor lad sleep. Clearly, he wasn’t getting enough of it at home.

Lewis’ state was becoming worrisome, and Morse began to wonder what kind of diet Mrs. Lewis was on. Clearly, it was working, albeit in all the wrong ways. Once he began seeing ribs when Robbie breathed, Morse decided that enough was enough, and it was time he intervened. He’d be damned if the excuse that it wasn’t his place could be used. Lewis was clearly suffering, and Morse wouldn’t stand for that.

Morse made preparations. Despite the fact he rarely kept more than a few tins of things around his house, he could actually cook. But before he could do that, he had to build Lewis’ trust in his household’s pantry. 

One morning when Lewis arrived to pick him up, Morse told him to help himself to coffee in the kitchen. Thankfully, he was rewarded for his efforts by Robbie being curious and opening up cabinets and the fridge, drawn by hunger to nibble. When he returned from his upstairs rooms, Robbie looked considerably more rosy, thanks to some empty biscuit wrappers and toast. Morse didn’t even mind the tidying later.

Of course, one meal made very little difference. Robbie was still far too thin and far too weak. So Morse decided it was time to take his plan to the next level.

It was a Tuesday afternoon during a fairly simple case. Morse was watching the clock carefully, ostensibly so he could time his crossword, while Robbie typed. At twelve fifteen exactly, Lewis sighed and sat back. “Sorry, Sir. I can’t work anymore. Can we break for lunch?” Morse cringed in sympathy at Lewis’ desperate tone. The poor boy was clearly hungrier than he was letting on. Morse wondered briefly if the children were faring any better.

“Yes, of course. Come on, Lewis, you can tell me what you’ve found out on the way.”

Morse was not expecting many results from Lewis. It was annoying doing his own legwork, but Morse was not incapable if the need arose. And the older man was not about to be selfish. With Robbie feeling poorly, there was no chance he’d survive legwork, anyway. But Lewis had come up with a few interesting results, and he was so absorbed in talking about them that he didn’t realize where they were driving to.

“Sir?” Lewis asked, interrupting himself, “Why are we at your house?”

“You’ll see. Now, tell me why you think Westfield is involved.”

“Well,” Lewis began, following Morse into his house with a curious air, “he clearly had motive. He needed to borrow money from Havern, and Havern wasn’t having it.”

“How do you suppose he did it, then?” Morse set about preparing what he’d began cooking earlier. He’d boiled the noodles already, so all he needed to do was warm them up a bit and heat up the sauce.

“Well, he didn’t deny he knew how to use a switchblade; army, you know, Sir, and…” Lewis hesitated.

“Yes? Go on.”

The younger man groaned, leaning up against the wall. Pasta. He recognized the smell. It would taste so good after having barely any carbs at his own house. Robbie hadn’t even realized how hungry he’d been until he smelled it. He rubbed at his stomach as it began to growl, painfully cramping up as it did so. The growling certainly didn’t last long; there was nothing much for his stomach to digest, but the painful cramps remained. Robbie grunted and closed his eyes.

“Lewis?”

Robbie couldn’t even respond. Suddenly, he felt so weak, like he could barely move another step.

“Robbie?”

The worried tone finally resonated with him, and his desire to reassure Morse rose over the dizziness he felt. “Sir…I don’t feel…”

Morse was at his elbow before Lewis could fall. The young man blinked; he didn’t even know Morse could move that fast. 

“Steady, now,” Morse said reassuringly, steering Lewis to a chair. “Sit down. Once you’ve eaten, we can talk more. You need to rest now.”

Lewis slumped obediently once seated, only straightening slightly when Morse brought him a plate of pasta. “I didn’t know you could cook.” He said weakly, carefully taking his first bite. There wasn’t any sauce on it, but it tasted good to him all the same.

Morse, who was not eating himself, smiled kindly. “When I had some free time after I made sergeant, I began exploring Italian culture. All of it, even the food. I was never skilled in the kitchen, but I can boil water, thus I can make pasta.”

Lewis nodded, and was surprised moments later when the fork clinked against the plate. He tried not to look disappointed as his hunger reared up again, telling him that a bowl of pasta was no where near enough of a lunch.

Morse whisked the plate away and returned with more-this time with red sauce. “You were so shaky. I didn’t want to set wrath upon you.” He explained when he noticed Lewis’ incredulous look. “Now, shall I tell you what I’ve discovered?”

Their lunch lasted longer than usual, Lewis making his way through the pasta Morse had cooked while the inspector explained how he saw the case. “The only thing missing, of course, was proof. We have yet to place Westfield at the scene. I had planned to have a look at it later on today. There’s no hurry, as far as I’m concerned.” Morse drank a bit more of his beer. The alcohol was mostly to keep his own hunger at bay. Cooking had always enlivened his appetite, which is why he so rarely cooked, but Lewis had eaten nearly the entire pot, and he had clearly needed it. Morse was not about to begrudge Lewis a full stomach if it meant he had his bright, cheery sergeant back.

Lewis frowned at his bowl. He’d lost track of how much he’d eaten, but he couldn’t deny that he felt so much better. He was full, stomach comfortably tight, and it felt amazing. He felt energized and ready to continue the case. Admittedly, he was upset Morse had gone behind his back, but as he looked back at how he’d felt before, cheeks going red at the thought, he realized he’d left Morse little choice. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

Of all the things Morse had anticipated, that wasn’t one of them. “Sorry? What for?”

“For…” Lewis blushed pinker. “…this. All of this. I didn’t mean to be such a bother.”

Morse smiled fondly and reached across to pat Lewis’ knee. “You know, I don’t actually hate caring for others. And I couldn’t stand to watch you when you were so ill, you could barely stay awake. I wanted to help you, Lewis. Do you really think that I don’t care about you?”

Lewis looked away and bit his lip. “I just…I never thought…”

Morse waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, Lewis. Now,” He stood up, stretching. “Do you feel better?”

Lewis nodded eagerly, standing as well. “Better than ever, Sir!”

“Good. Now, come on. I said there wasn’t any hurry, but I’d rather have this case over and done with. It’s been a messy business all around.”

“Aye, Sir.” 

Lewis sat comfortably beside his superior as the older man drove the jag away. The young man smiled and thought to himself that hi first instincts had been right; Morse really was a good man after all.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I'm so sorry.


End file.
